Because I could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me;
He drove a Schwinn bicycle
And wore a puke green jersey.
We killed my mom, he killed my dad,
He killed my first Aunt May
He ate my dog, and my kittens too,
And then he spit on me.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We paused to teach the children pain,
I showed the team my gun.
Death killed my friends in ways that seem
Too gruesome to recall;
Their bloody bodies now are tacked,
Up on my purple wall.
Since then 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised I’d lost to a team
In puke green jerseys.
What, mortal Aggies?! You like not my poetry?? Scoff all you want.
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the great football dome in the sky.
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill all in your sight,
A time to tear down and a time to knock boots,
A time to weep and a time to dance,
A time to take sock puppets out of your pants.
As you may have guessed from my incoherent mumbling, my Schwinn popped a fat tire last weekend, mortal Aggies. That’s right. We lost to Marshall. Marshall. A single lawman wearing nasty green shouldamapads beat my purple headed love warriors to a pulp!
This is a very difficult time for my team.
Pray to whatever rat-like deity you grovel before that you do not have to see me post here again this year. If I return here after another loss, my wrath will fall like thunder from the sky, like dandruff from my string white hair, like Michael Bishop’s promise as an NFL quarterback! My sock puppets will rend you bone from flesh, and you will truly know what it is like to lose a football game to Marshall.
Until then, I will kill you all.
Love,
Bill
p.s. I am crazy now.
He kindly stopped for me;
He drove a Schwinn bicycle
And wore a puke green jersey.
We killed my mom, he killed my dad,
He killed my first Aunt May
He ate my dog, and my kittens too,
And then he spit on me.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We paused to teach the children pain,
I showed the team my gun.
Death killed my friends in ways that seem
Too gruesome to recall;
Their bloody bodies now are tacked,
Up on my purple wall.
Since then 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised I’d lost to a team
In puke green jerseys.
What, mortal Aggies?! You like not my poetry?? Scoff all you want.
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the great football dome in the sky.
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill all in your sight,
A time to tear down and a time to knock boots,
A time to weep and a time to dance,
A time to take sock puppets out of your pants.
As you may have guessed from my incoherent mumbling, my Schwinn popped a fat tire last weekend, mortal Aggies. That’s right. We lost to Marshall. Marshall. A single lawman wearing nasty green shouldamapads beat my purple headed love warriors to a pulp!
This is a very difficult time for my team.
- Imagine the pain of watching all of your cousins and half siblings being torn to shreds by nile crocodiles and angry hippos.
- Imagine your spouse getting her shoestring caught in an escalator and being slowly pulled down into that little grate thingy until all that was left of her was a few bloody, mangled digits.
- Imagine your great uncle being forced to watch “Gigli” while squatting naked in a baby pool filled with sand crabs.
- Imagine you are “Lucky Pierre” in a “manwich” made up of Brent Musberger and Mark Mangino
- Imagine The Carpenters scheduling their only tour date in your town on the same day you are supposed to be coaching your team of JUCO rejects against Nebraska. Hmmm, well, I guess that one’s kind of personal.
Pray to whatever rat-like deity you grovel before that you do not have to see me post here again this year. If I return here after another loss, my wrath will fall like thunder from the sky, like dandruff from my string white hair, like Michael Bishop’s promise as an NFL quarterback! My sock puppets will rend you bone from flesh, and you will truly know what it is like to lose a football game to Marshall.
Until then, I will kill you all.
Love,
Bill
p.s. I am crazy now.
